


Are You Worth It?

by LittleRedH00ds



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedH00ds/pseuds/LittleRedH00ds
Summary: Hanzo needs some money. He's out to collect a bounty for the capture (or murder) of the American outlaw Jesse Mccree. He follows Mccree out to the middle of nowhere and decides it's time to strike. But is Mccree it more than he bargained for?





	Are You Worth It?

Hanzo waited. He was crouched in the shade of a large cliff but still felt the heat on his tortured skin. Beads of sweat collected at his temples, rolling down the sharp lines of his cheeks and dripping off of his jaw. Hot wind blew strands of dark hair against his sweat sticky brow and pressed dessert sands against his face and neck. But he remained patient; the poster was under his foot so he could glance at the image occasionally, and remind himself of the face. 

Jesse Mccree,   
Dead or alive,   
Sixty million dollars,

The man on the poster wasn’t hard to find but he tended to move on fast. Hanzo would have guessed it to be restlessness as well as self-preservation, he was very much the same, but Mccree was worse.

He never stayed in one spot for more than a couple of hours, he must have barely ever slept in his life. Hanzo often observed him eating or drinking while he walked. However, none of this made Hanzo rush his assassination; even when Mccree was drunk one night Hanzo had still watched him as he shot three men dead without even a struggle. He could wait; opportunity would come to his patience. 

Mccree was well aware of his bounty and seemed, to put it lightly, completely unburdened by it. It was a disgusting and foolish way to live. Always drunk, always causing trouble, leaving trails of bodies behind him. 

Hanzo intended to kill no more people than necessary. His methods were clean, precise, and tactful. 

But the waiting was starting to hurt. 

Hanzo stuffed the wanted poster in his quiver and moved closer to the rocks he was sitting behind to look at the small wood slat ranch house. This was the most remote place Mccree had visited so far; this would be the best place to do anything to him. A dilapidated looking shack in the middle of nowhere, it would be an effort to drag his corpse back to the nearest settlement but most certainly worth it for the sixty million dollar bounty. 

Hanzo watched the windows, bowstring drawn tight in his hand. He just needed to see the hat, that stupid painfully obvious hat and he could fire one quick arrow. That moment never seemed to come. Hanzo hadn’t seen his target for hours, he was was plastered with sand and his face felt so warm he knew he must be red with sunburn. Hanzo stood up from his spot. He needed a better position, a closer position. 

Hanzo climbed down the cliff face; the setting sun beamed directly onto the red wall and cooked him alive as he descended. 

Darkness would follow very soon and the night would be cold. The faster he finished the assassination the sooner he could rest. 

Hanzo approached with care, he considered setting up a short distance from the front door of the house when it suddenly burst open. Hanzo changed his stance ready for a fight. His target emerged, stumbling. A bottle slipped out of Mccree’s hand and shattered against the porch, brown glass skidded across the wooden slats. 

“You lookin’ at the sunset too,” he called out to Hanzo, “she’s a pretty one tonight huh?”

Hanzo stood there, confused, he was clearly in a fighting stance, readying an arrow and this man asked him if he was watching the sun? 

He looked so drunk, Hanzo had certainly seen Mccree drunk while he’d been tailing him but now, he looked worse than ever. 

Hanzo straightened up; he put the arrow back in his quiver and slung his bow over his shoulder. 

“No, rather…I am hunting for a meal, actually.” The lie was cautious. He wondered how quick Mccree would call his bluff. 

There was silence between them for a long moment before the gunslinger suddenly let out a guttural laugh. 

“With that? Why ain’t nothing is faster than a bullet.”

Hanzo smiled, though his lip curled into a slight sneer. “It works well enough for hunting.” 

“Well now,” Mccree adjusted his hat and gestured inside the house, “you ain’t gotta worry no more about wasting arrows friend. I got plenty of things to eat inside. Why don’cha come pull up a chair?”

It was a trap. It had to be a trap; no wanted man would be this placid. He was obviously making himself a tempting target so Hanzo would lower his guard.  
Hanzo smiled maliciously if Mccree thought that he had the upper hand he was dead wrong. 

Hanzo approached the porch still wary, “I appreciate it, you are quite right I would hate to let arrows go to waste out here…” 

Hanzo watched the sway in Mccree’s footsteps as he trailed behind him. His hair was matted, his shirt was untucked, he reeked of alcohol and smoke even from the opposite end of the hallway. Hanzo closed the door behind himself as he entered; the tiny ranch house smelt the same as Mccree did. 

Mccree turned to him and smiled crookedly, “Make yourself at home friend.” 

Whether Mccree was setting up a game or not Hanzo would play. He laid his bow and quiver neatly against the wall next to a coatrack of moth-eaten garments; the knife concealed in his clothing would do the job just fine if he could get up close. 

As Hanzo entered, he observed that the house seemed oddly put back together. Clearly ransacked and abandoned a long time ago, but it showed clear signs that Mccree had walked around picking things up, putting some of the intact pieces of overturned furniture back on its feet. 

The dining room table had three wonky looking legs and one held together with tape. Hanzo sat down in the most stable looking chair, keeping a close eye on the gunslinger, who walked wonkily back into the kitchen. 

“Ain’t too often I have friends out this way…” Mccree called, he must have gotten a generator started given that the lights were on and Hanzo could smell the cooking; to his great betrayal his stomach growled. 

“I am not familiar with the territory…” He called back.

Mccree hummed, “Brave of ya to come out this far all alone looking for somthin’ t’ eat.”

“I suppose it is.” Hanzo sneered; he guessed this was Mccree’s way of playing coy.

“I got a good couple of black-tails for dinner here.” Mccree continued. “Good little things if ya stew them right…” 

Conversation died there, other than the bubbling pot the house was dead silent. Hanzo started to plan what his next move should be. 

“What’s yer name?” He heard Mccree’s voice call. 

The archer gave it a second of debate before he decided on an answer, “Hanzo.” 

Mccree would never leave this place alive there was no point in lying to him.

“Well, that’s an unusual one! Mine’s just Jess, Jesse Mccree, just Jesse is fine.”   
Hanzo quirked an eyebrow, this man talked an awful lot more than necessary. Not to mention, gave out his full real name without even a pause, Hanzo assumed it was the alcohol that is if he was really that drunk.

“It is good to meet you, Jesse,” Hanzo said in a polite tone.

“Likewise Hanzo.” Mccree’s voice replied.

The gunslinger re-entered the room with two chipped enamel bowls that were giving off steam. He put one down in front of Hanzo, the broth slopped over the edges due to Mccree’s unsteady hands. He sat down at the opposite end of the table from Hanzo and blew at the bowl to cool the contents. 

“Black-tail stew,” Mccree informed him without looking up. “There’s plenty in the pot so eat up.” 

Hanzo observed the lack of any cutlery and watched Mccree bring the bowl up to his mouth, sloppily gulping it down, little dribbles rolled down his neck, Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Hanzo’s breath hitched while he watched him. 

Mccree paused, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “It’s rabbit and a couple o’ veg and things I found out n’ about. S’not bad, I promise on my life.”

You’re life isn’t worth much Hanzo thought bitterly to himself as he smelled the broth. Mccree could very easily be trying to poison him right now. Hanzo hadn’t seen the pot or the broth being dished into bowls. 

Hanzo picked up the bowl and let it slip out of his hands. It crashed against the floor with a clatter and the liquid spilt everywhere flinging bits of meat across the room.

Mccree was so startled he dropped his empty bowl on the table. “Gosh dangit! Yer a clumsy fella ain’t ya Hanzo? Come on I’m getting some seconds, you can dish out a new bowl for yerself.” 

Hanzo mumbled an apology and picked up his bowl. As Mccree stood up Hanzo saw the gun belt and holster hanging on the back of his chair. Mccree was leaving his weapon behind. Hanzo smiled to himself and followed Mccree into the kitchen. Sure enough on the rusty stove sat a large soup pot and in it was more of the dinner Mccree had made. The gunslinger dished out a bowlful for himself and stood there beside the pot drinking the contents. 

So the pot was poison free. With the conformation that it was safe Hanzo followed suit dishing up some for himself. He grabbed a part of his Yukata, wiping the chipped rim of his bowl before carefully taking a slip. It was, much to his surprise, quite good, but much to his discomfort he noticed Mccree staring at him from his peripheral vision. 

He tried ignored the gaze and drained his bowl, his stomach was finally quiet. 

Standing next to the gunslinger the alcohol smell was stronger, he noticed the line of bottles on the kitchen bench most were empty.

“Do ya want one?” Mccree nodded towards them when he noticed Hanzo looking.   
“No…thank-you,” Hanzo replied being inebriated was the last thing he wanted right now. 

Mccree shrugged, he pulled out a box of cigars, lit one and took a long drag. Hanzo watched him breathe out in smoke.   
“You know…Hanzo. Sounds mighty familiar…I know I heard a’ you before…”  
Hanzo stayed silent, letting Mccree draw his own conclusions. 

But after a moment the gunslinger smirked crookedly at him, leaning closer, “na never mind…can’t be cause I’d never forget a lovely face like yours.” 

Hanzo wrinkled his nose in distaste. Was he really!? 

“Kinda feeling blessed here Han.” Mccree blew out another mouthful of smoke and Hanzo scowled at the nickname. 

“Like the ol’ lady of fate bought you stumbling onto my doorstep.” Mccree smiled charmingly at him.

Hanzo briefly considered stabbing him now while he was musing, but then Mccree stood up straight and moved towards him. Hanzo readied himself to fight off an attack, but Mccree’s movement was slow, he smiled, and put one callused hand on Hanzo’s waist, his thumb lazily traced the line of Hanzo’s hip. 

Hanzo didn’t pull away, which Mccree took as a positive sign to pull him closer.

He took the cigar out of his mouth and he dipped his head to Hanzo’s neck, pressing a few sloppy kisses against his skin. 

Hanzo was thinking. Mccree’s mouth was warm against his skin, which was distracting. But then Hanzo thought about how easy it would be to murder him in intimacy, to slit his throat while he was in bliss, or smother him while he was asleep. 

Hanzo brought his hands up to Mccree’s shirt collar; he grabbed hold and pressed himself against the other man. Mccree groaned, his head tipped back and Hanzo kissed him. 

He almost gagged. Mccree tasted so strongly of smoke and alcohol it was unbearable. He was still so drunk his kisses were messy and wet. He dragged his teeth against Hanzo’s bottom lip and gently tugged. Hanzo pulled away to kiss at his jaw, the scruffy beard tickled his cheeks, he felt Mccree’s grip on his waist start to press bruises into his skin and he bit his neck in response. 

Part of him yearned for the touches; he missed any kind of closeness. Even though Mccree was messy and drunk he was still warm and his caresses were gentle. 

Mccree suddenly grabbed his legs and picked him up, Hanzo felt a brief moment of fear Mccree would fall over with his weight but he wound his legs around the gunslinger’s waist. Mccree’s hands were squeezing at Hanzo’s ass, holding him there when he suddenly looked down disappointed. 

“Ah fuck.” He stamped his foot on what Hanzo assumed was his dropped cigar; Hanzo raised an eyebrow at him while he was distracted. Mccree carried Hanzo further into the house. He kissed and bit at Mccree's neck while he watched the halls and doorways behind them. There was still the slightest chance Mccree was just acting. 

The gunslinger kicked a door closed behind them and put Hanzo back on his feet. 

There was a moth-bitten bed in this room. 

"Are you this forward with every stranger who stumbles onto your path?" Hanzo couldn't hold back at least one biting remark. 

Mccree snickered "Only ones like you. Got this mean look in your eye like you could eat me..." 

Hanzo couldn't even fathom how to deconstruct that statement. But Mccree didn't give him the time to think on it before he was crashing their faces together in another kiss. Hanzo grabbed his arms, one felt distinctly different from the other he noticed, his attention was divided every which way. Mccree was like a funhouse, busy and bright all around him. Hanzo found himself losing track of where Mccree’s hands were going until he felt oddly both cool and warm fingers pushing apart his shirts. Mccree drew away from kissing his mouth to bite his neck again. He started yanking at the clothing and Hanzo hurried to assist. Mccree gave a low whistle, shaky fingers tracing the lines of Hanzo’s tattoo. 

“That’s a nice one…” He said tracing the scales. 

Hanzo was shivering under the touch. “Do you have something as well?” 

Mccree quietly kissed at Hanzo’s shoulder for a moment before uttering a single “Nah.” 

They pulled at each other’s clothes Hanzo yanked Mccree’s shirt open, buttons popped off the front and he felt some kind of odd glee at being destructive. Mccree took two shaky steps before Hanzo threw him down on the bed, impatient with his slowness. 

Mccree was snickering, “dang…didn’t think you could do that.”   
Hanzo watched Mccree’s eyes, his pupils dilated as Hanzo crawled on top of him.

“It’s because I am shorter than you?” He hissed, “Your assessments are shallow and dangerous.” 

Mccree laughed, his words were barely comprehensible but Hanzo could make out, “you’re dangerous.” 

“I am,” Hanzo growled. 

He grabbed at the gunslinger’s pants fiddling with a hideous buckle and buttons.

“It’s a cool buckle, it makes me look cool...” Mccree slurred as Hanzo pulled down his pants, irritated, he realised he must have been frowning. 

“mm…thin- it’s gonna bug me all night now…” Mccree said between giggles.

“What is?” Hanzo snapped. 

His target sat up, holding Hanzo in his lap, grinning lazily. “Hanzo…Hanzo…I know you I know I do…have we met somewhere before?” 

“No.” Hanzo found himself leaning back ever so slightly. “Believe me I would remember if we did.” 

“I’ll remember eventu-lly,” Mccree assured with an unfocused nod. “Got a mind like a steal trap I do.”

“I’m sure you do.” Hanzo struggled not to roll his eyes. 

They continued, sloppily kissing and pulling off each other’s clothes. Hanzo couldn’t even begin to imagine what about him seemed familiar too the gunslinger but the more he drunkenly mentioned it the more Hanzo became concerned the more he found himself becoming almost frightened. Unusual, to be worried about a drunken man but Mccree had an aura like he was wound so tight he could snap at any moment.

Hanzo noticed him reaching up; he paused in moving his hands down the gunslinger’s chest and felt Mccree pinch his nose between two fingers. Hanzo jerked his head back and looked down at him angrily. 

“Yeah, you got t’ same little nose you do…same…” He pinched Hanzo’s cheeks and Hanzo backed off further. Mccree sat up and stared at him, still with that lazy grin, something about it seemed more malicious, his eyes seemed more focused.

“Shimada features like…m’ good pal Genji…you’re his brother, Hanzo aren’t ya…” 

Hanzo’s heart stopped, his mouth hung open and he couldn’t make a sound. His mind screamed and he found himself being dragged back into memories his hand shaking, red with blood that wasn’t really there. 

“Now.” Mccree ran a hand through his shaggy hair, dark eyes trained on the archer. “Jog my memory, what’d you do to my dear good ol’ pal Genji again?” 

Hanzo was forced to see the bloody walls and floor in his mind's eye, he heard the pained wheezing, and he struggled to remain present. 

Hanzo reached for his knife only to be knocked off the bed. He landed on all fours like a cat. Dust was kicked up from the old floor and splinters dug into his palms. Hanzo possessed by some sort of terror he thought he could never experience scrambled to flee from the room as if the ghost of Genji himself had been standing there. So anxious to escape he full body hit the wonky closed door and it shattered under the strain. Hanzo stumbled into the hallway hitting a wall tripping over scattered wood. He hadn’t even heard Mccree stand up but sure enough the gunslinger was on his feet and slowly following along Hanzo’s trail of wreckage. 

“He told me all about you…” Mccree said softly “good stuff too. You sounded like a nice kid until you grew up and murdered him.” 

“I was still a child then!” Hanzo blurted out. “You weren’t there!” 

“Poor excuse.” Mccree hissed, he lunged forward throwing a wild punch at Hanzo, who observed the glint of silver as he dodged. 

Mccree’s metal arm tore through the wall like it was a piece of paper, pulverising the plaster and wood with no resistance. 

Mccree gave a hearty laugh. “What a funny ol’ twist of fate to find you out here…how far do ya have to travel to escape guilt?” 

Hanzo finally drew his blade, fierce with new rage. “I am not escaping anything. Jesse Mccree. I am working.” 

Mccree’s smile grew wider. “Oh, I see…I invite ya into my home for a good time and ya’ve just been here to kill me…” 

“And you are a fool for letting me get this close.” Hanzo snarled.

“You’re a fool for coming this close.” Mccree sneered back. 

Hanzo felt an unnatural breeze run through the room. He was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him but Mccree’s body seemed to be surrounded by a feint glow. One eye was oddly brighter than the other. 

Hanzo took a swing with his knife only to have Mccree dodged out of the way, so oddly nimble for his size. Hanzo tried to be faster striking at him again and again. In a particularly careless swing Mccree grabbed his wrist and pried his fingers apart with his metal hand. Hanzo’s knife clattered to the floor and in his moment of disarm Mccree punched him in the nose. He let Hanzo stumble back, his hands pressed over the crushed bones wheezing in pain, shaky feet carrying him backwards towards the door. 

Mccree just walked silently towards him. Hanzo glanced into the dining room where they’d previously been sitting at the start of the evening. His eyes focused in on where Mccree had sat, his gun belt hung over the back of his chair like an ill omen.   
Hanzo gritted his teeth he couldn’t waste any more time. He turned and ran up the hallway, his bow, his only salvation. 

“Where’d you think you’re goin’ Hanzo…” the voice behind him sneered. 

Hanzo ran to the door he was unsteady with fear from the dragged up memories. Mccree would pay. Now the archer had his bow.

“Come back here and fight you, coward! You wanna murder me come try!”

Hanzo grabbed his bow and slung the quiver over his shoulder. He shot his first arrow, which missed. But his second was right on target. It sailed down the hallway towards Mccree who held out his hand, his metal arm shielded him from the arrow, it snapped on impact. 

Hanzo tried to load up his third arrow with shaking hands when suddenly he was tackled to the ground. He screamed and struggled throwing punches wildly against Mccree who blocked him with ease. Hanzo had no idea when it started but he was crying, he was afraid. His mind went back again to that moment when guilt made him clasp Genji’s cold bloody hand in his own. 

“You scared of dyin Hanzo Shimada?” Mccree growled, pinning him to the floor, both of them half-naked, sweaty and bruised from the fighting.

Hanzo trapped in his memories didn’t answer, his mouth was slightly open in shock. 

Mccree tilted his head. Hanzo felt hands on his cheeks. The sensation somehow brought him back. Grounded him enough to hear Mccree’s words. 

“In my mind…Hanzo Shimada was this hideous, bloodthirsty monster, I maybe pictured some kinda, dragon…demon…something that could be vicious enough to murder his little brother…” Mccree brushed away a tear from the archer’s cheek. “I don’t know what to make of you though…you aren’t what I imagined you to be. You’re soft and witty.” 

“I tried to kill you.” Hanzo wheezed. 

Mccree nodded, “Yeah…but some of my favourite people have tried to kill me before…and anyway, it’s not my place to kill you…” 

Hanzo stared at him confused and angry, Mccree only smiled back. 

“You see Hanzo,” Mccree let go of the archer and stood up. Hanzo scrambled to sit up ready to defend himself but Mccree didn’t attack him. He was still smiling, still drunk. “The look in your eyes says you’re too ready for someone to end you. You don’t deserve to get outta guilt like that.” 

Hanzo leaned back against the wall struggling to catch his breath. “What makes you think I feel guilt?” 

“Guilty tears? The way you paled when I mentioned Genji I dunno…you looked so pathetic not like- a monster.” 

Hanzo got to his feet, bristling with anger. “So now what?” 

Mccree hummed for a moment. “I’d say I don’t kill you, you don’t kill me, you get the hell out of my house and we keep outta each other’s paths or I won’t be so kind next time. How’s that?”

Hanzo gritted his teeth. “Alright I accept.” 

Mccree huffed. “ Great because I am way too tired to do that shit again.” 

It was a strange walk of shame. Hanzo trailed back to the bedroom where he picked up his forgotten clothes and redressed. Mccree however did not, merely watched Hanzo fix himself up and head for the exit. 

Mccree followed him to the door and as Hanzo slung his quiver over his shoulder he heard the rustle of paper, Mccree pulled something out. The poster that he had carelessly shoved in there earlier. Mccree was looking at it somewhat fondly before he folded it back up and tucked it back into Hanzo’s quiver.

“Enjoy your hangover.” Hanzo hissed as he opened the door. 

He felt hands grab his waist and threw his arms up in panic. The gunslinger had changed his mind. 

But instead, Mccree turned Hanzo around and kissed him. Hanzo made a slight whimper of shock and held onto Mccree’s arms. He let himself stay there until Mccree pulled away, the loss of warmth tugged at his heart. 

“There’s your reward,” Mccree said with a smirk before he closed the door on Hanzo.


End file.
